Sephiroth Potter and the Goblet of Fire
by AnnaDruvez
Summary: Harry's got a Past that will come back to haunt old Voldie. Rated M for a bit of language, deaths and violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**

_I don't own Final Fantasy, nor am I JKR. Therefore, I make no money._

**Note**

_This has been completely written. I always enjoy constructive criticism and will think about any changes that are needed to better the story. Just be aware, any suggestions for future chapters may be ignored._

* * *

**One**

Harry Potter's first clue that something was wrong came early in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He'd been on his Firebolt and flying like a bat out of hell, when he was engulfed by dragon fire. Normally, that was the fast way to discover a new-found sympathy with vulcanized rubber. He should have fallen from the sky and exploded into a cloud of ash upon striking the ground.

To his great surprise, however, he did not burn. Fortunately, neither did his broom. Several minutes later, he was in the hospital tent convincing himself that he'd imagined it. By the time he went out to receive his scores, only the smallest voice in the back of his mind was arguing.

He was just grateful that Ron was over his petty jealousy. A small part of him was mildly disdainful of his friend and remained irritated. He didn't have enough problems in his life, he was supposed to go look for more?

The second clue was less obvious, though he did notice it. As he was swimming through the second task, the denizens of the lake were determined to avoid him. Kelpies, merfolk, even the grindylows went careening in any direction that they thought would be safe from him. Still, he forgot all about it as he towed the remaining hostages to the surface. Fleur's enthusiastic hug and kiss drove it further from his mind.

Looking in his mirror the morning of the third task, Harry was more than a bit amazed. He reached a hand up and traced a finger across the hairs at his temples and around his face. They had turned a silver gray. More gray was scattered through the rest of his hair. He was too young to go gray... wasn't he?

He ruefully admitted, after thinking about it, that his life was enough to prematurely age anyone. And that was before you included the Dursleys in the mix. He chuckled humorlessly. With them added in, he should look as old as Dumbledore.

He dressed, ate breakfast and visited with the Weasleys. All the while, a little voice in the back of his head was debating what would be in the maze and what he would need to do in order to survive. He reviewed statistics, strengths and weaknesses of all the local flora and fauna, even as he conversed and put on his 'brave face' for his best friend's family.

It didn't occur to him that he hadn't thought quite that... (analytically? or would that be coldly?)... less than a day before. He also didn't notice how his left hand kept trying to wrap itself around the hilt of a non-existent sword. He ignored the way he was searching for one more red-headed male to be present, standing side-by-side with a black-haired behemoth...

Entering the maze was like coming home.

He took a deep breath as the quiet and the damp surrounded him. He closed his eyes and listened to the stillness, broken only by the rustling of the hedges. There were no insects chirping, no animals moving nearby. It felt like an ambush in Wutai during the war. His left hand clenched convulsively and he opened his eyes. He had a mission to complete.

A quiet smirk crossed his lips as he started forward. He took turns at apparently random intersections and seemed to not notice the sounds that came just from the other side of the greenery. Appearances were deceiving, however. His mind was constantly mapping his path, and the turns led him past dozens of traps without springing them.

When he passed through the golden Confundus ward, there was a faint tingle of something trying to take root. His iron will brushed it aside easily and he continued on without breaking stride. He noted and cataloged the sensation as mostly benign.

Finally, he came across one that he could not avoid or simply ignore. Hagrid called them Blast-Ended Skrewts. He knew that they were really a mutated version of the Frozen Nail. The original beasts had been weak versus fire. These were weak against Ice. One stood before him, apparently of the opinion that he was dinner.

He dodged the initial assault and let the flame that propelled the beast wash over him. He smiled. He'd always loved Ice. His left hand came up. Power raced through him and out of the limb, completely bypassing the wand in his right hand. The Skrewt was engulfed in a solid mass of Ice that quickly shattered, rending the beast to shreds at the same time.

Harry froze. _What...?_ He blinked. _How...?_ He lifted his hand up to stare at it, then at the remains of the Skrewt. He shook his head. _I will never be a memory... _He shook his head again and strode resolutely forward. He could figure this out later. He had a tournament to win.

A flick of his fingers had the Imperiused Krum hit with a Stop. He paused and eyed the apparently petrified seeker and gasping Cedric, then turned and continued on his way. The Sphinx was no problem. It looked at him, paled and stepped aside without a word.

He didn't notice his robes slowly darkening and changing to leather. He paid no attention to his hair as it lengthened and gained gravity-defying bangs. He ignored the aches and increased distance in his stride as he gained over a foot in height, going from just over five feet to six foot one. His movements changed, changing from the gangly motion of a human child to the graceful lope of a predatory SOLDIER First Class.

Ahead of him, he saw the cup on a plinth. Cedric, coming from a side passage, fell into step beside him only to be quickly outdistanced by his longer legs and a Haste spell. An acromantula came barreling out in front of him, only to miss him completely as he leapt. His left hand snapped down and light flared as the overgrown arachnid was roasted by an overpowered Firaga. The dying beast crashed into the passage's exit and collapsed there in a smoldering heap.

He ran on, ignoring the sounds of Cedric cursing and casting spells to put out the fire and move the corpse. He skidded to a stop and his outstretched hand caught the handle of the cup. Thin lips curved into a trademark smirk. He had won.

A hook latched into him behind his navel and he was suddenly elsewhere. He was unaware that he had landed in a graveyard. Had he still been his smaller self, he would still have been conscious. As it was, he wound up smacking head first into a tombstone and knew no more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**

_I don't own Final Fantasy, nor am I JKR. Therefore, I make no money._

**Note**

_This has been completely written. I always enjoy constructive criticism and will think about any changes that are needed to better the story. Just be aware, any suggestions for future chapters may be ignored._

**Note of Amazement**

_In the first six hours, I had a combined hit total of nearly one hundred and fifty viewers between FFN and AO3. In that timeframe: I received five reviews, one C2, six faves and thirteen alerts. This afternoon, I log in and my inbox is nearly full and hits have almost doubled._

_You guys rock._

* * *

**Two**

He tried to bring his hand to his aching head, only to realize that he was restrained. His eyes cracked open and he bit back a groan. He was tied to a tombstone. Wormtail, or Peter Pettigrew to his mother and those few who actually liked him, was several feet in front of him with a bubbling cauldron. He resisted the urge to smack his head back against the stone in hopes of returning to unconsciousness. This sort of thing only seemed to happen to him.

A hissing caught his attention, and he turned his head to see Nagini. She had reared up off of the ground and her tongue was flicking out towards him. If her hisses were anything to go by, she was baffled by the strangely acrid scent coming off of him. He eyed her for a moment, then dismissed her from his concerns. Voldemort wouldn't let the snake kill him. Like all egomaniacs, the bastard would want to do it himself.

Peter finished whatever preparations he'd been working on and approached him. Harry couldn't help staring curiously at the bleeding limb the ratlike man was clutching to his chest. He couldn't fathom why anyone would cut off his own hand and not staunch – or at least cauterize it – before continuing on. Perhaps it was a requirement of the potion? He would certainly never have participated in the brewing himself, were that the case.

"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe..."

Peter reached up with the dagger in his hand, only to falter slightly at the leather covered arm. He shrugged after a second and sliced into Harry's bared chest. Who knew what Mako, JENOVA cells, Basilisk venom, and Phoenix tears would do to the potion? Whatever it was, he was willing to bet it wouldn't be good for the person who drank it. Part of Harry crowed in amusement, even as he spoke. "By all means, take as much as you need."

He watched the shorter wizard gather several drops in a vial before returning and pouring it in the cauldron. The liquid in the cauldron changed to a blinding white for a few seconds before going sickeningly green. A green that Harry recognized as that of liquid Mako. The bubbling increased, accompanied by a high-pitched hissing noise.

Peter had started to collapse to the ground, but now stared in horror. He scrambled backwards, seeking shelter behind a nearby crypt. Nagini hissed in rage, demanding the 'traitorous feed-beast' return to aid her master. Harry sighed and watched as the reaction increased, the metal of the cauldron glowing red, and wondered if he'd angered any gods as a child.

The cauldron began to sag, the potion slowly spilling out of it and putting out the flame beneath. That didn't seem to cool things off, however. Instead, the metal grew hotter – going from red to yellow to white. The edges sagged further, and the potion kept spreading across the ground. The cauldron collapsed completely in a small explosion and a fully developed body was thrown across the small clearing. That was not the end of it, though. Where the cauldron had been – the epicenter of the blast – a geyser spurted up. It wasn't water – the glowing green fluid could only be Mako.

Voldemort – who else would have pallid skin and the nose of a snake? – rose to his feet and slowly made his way back over. The Dark Lord stared at the newly formed fountain in front of him in utter bafflement before giving an arrogant smile. He could almost read what other wizard was thinking: that this was clearly a sign of his great power and a way for nature itself to commemorate his rebirth. He resisted the urge to laugh. Even at his worst, he'd never been that narcissistic.

Voldemort demanded his wand and Wormtail's arm. He summoned his servants with a wicked grin. He apparently didn't understand what was happening to him, but Harry saw the sweat beginning to bead on his brow. He understood the strange cramps that were causing the Dark Lord to rest a hand on his lower abdomen. Voldemort was experiencing the first stages of Mako poisoning.

He didn't know how he knew that. He just did.

The Dark Lord postured, pranced, ripped off their masks, named his minions and made grand statements of disfavor and favor. He waved his arms and elaborated on history that anyone with half an ounce of sense already knew. Given the typical Death Eater, Harry reflected, they probably needed the refresher course. Still, it was all very melodramatic.

When he got back to the Lifestream, he'd have to ask Cloud if he'd ever been that much of a drama queen. He certainly hoped not. That was Genesis' schtick. He shook his head. _Who is Cloud? Who is Genesis?_

Finally, Voldemort ordered Wormtail to untie him and give him his wand. Harry accepted it, taking it in his right hand, and moved to face his enemy. Voldemort smiled at him. "How you have grown, Harry Potter. Tell me: do you know how to duel?"

Harry nodded. "I do. But are we dueling or are we fighting? There is a difference."

The Dark Lord blinked, surprised by his opponent's casual question. "We shall duel. First, of course, we bow."

Voldemort gave the slightest possible bow. If he was shocked by Harry's return of the gesture, he didn't show it. Though, he did seem more than a bit irritated at how Harry's bow was almost slighter than his own. His lips pressed firmly together and he flicked his wand.

Harry cocked his head as he felt acid race through his veins. The Cruciatus Curse was supposed to be the epitome of torture. As far as Harry could tell, it was nowhere near as bad as being submerged in liquid Mako. "Is that the best you can do?"

Voldemort's curse ended as the Dark Lord gaped at him. Harry smirked back. "I've had worse injury from an upstart Infantryman." He spread his arms. "Try again. Perhaps you're just out of practice."

Voldemort actually growled a little, not that his followers would recognize the hissing noise as such. An advantage to being a parselmouth. His face reddened as he leveled his wand at Harry's chest again. The curse washed through his system once more – fire and knives and biting, chewing animals on every nerve. Harry made a point of raising one arm to yawn.

Taunting this so-called Dark Lord was actually rather fun.

The curse ended again, and Harry smiled at him. "Is that it?" He hefted his own wand and pointed it casually at his opponent. "I suppose it's my turn." Harry pulled two lifetimes of rage and pain from the depths of his soul, wrapped it in magic and sent it screaming down his wand. It wasn't a Cruciatus Curse, but it might as well have been.

Voldemort collapsed without a sound, fighting the urge to writhe. His muscles seized as the curse impacted the Mako now flowing in his bloodstream and erupted into pure agony. It seemed that there were a thousand volcanoes of pain on every nerve. His nausea – building even before the fight began – threatened to overwhelm even that.

The Death Eaters shifted position nervously. On one hand, they should help their master. On the other, if they did so it would imply that they thought he couldn't save himself. Most of them wished that they'd stayed home and pled illness. It would be less painful than the inevitable retribution from their lord.

Harry lifted his wand. "Do you yield?"

Shaking, Voldemort raised his head. He staggered to his feet again. This could not be allowed. He had to destroy the brat before he lost even more of his followers' respect. He lifted his hand and Fiendfyre erupted from his wand. The burning chimeras, snakes and dragons racing out and engulfing his foe.

Harry saw the flame coming towards him and knew – with absolute certainty – that he could not escape it. The advancing fire was too wide to dodge. He closed his eyes and felt the first flicker of warmth tickle his skin.

* * *

_For spells reference: Firaga is the most powerful fire spell from the Fire Materia. Stop freezes people. It's similar in effect to Petrificus Totalus in that they're still conscious. They just can't move, speak, or cast spells. Sephiroth can change his appearance (a la a Metamorphmagus), summon his sword from nowhere, and dominate the minds of those infected with JENOVA cells._

_Seph's powers at the end of FVII include the ability to cast spells without Materia, Teleportation, Flight, and several unique powers that he can call on at will. His unique powers include Heartless Angel. This attack drops your party down to 1 hit point, forcing you to heal like crazy before he gets another hit in. Octaslash is a series of eight sword strikes in a single turn. Shadowflare is fairly obvious in my mind, but it's basically animated as a bunch of dark orbs that do damage. Pale Horse can inflict Frog and Slow status._

_Yes, he does turn the people who annoy him into toads in the final boss fight. I always found that amusing._

_Sephiroth exhibits a resistance to most spells. Also, according to the game developers (though this is never commented on in the games or movie), he has an iron will. He supposedly overpowered the JENOVA in his blood and took control of the cells for himself. By the end of FFVII, it's him you're fighting, not JENOVA. _

_I take a more middle ground approach. He did overwhelm her, but was influenced by her. Also, years of being raised by the Science Department turned him into a borderline psychopath. This was aggravated by the loss of his only friends. The days spent locked up in the lab below the Shin-Ra mansion reading about how he was just an experiment didn't help._

_For HP fans, materia are the wands of the Final Fantasy VII world. You have to have a materia that focuses a spell in order to be able to cast it. This goes for the both regular spells and the Summons. i.e. For Fire, Fira and Firaga, you must have a Fire materia. For a Shiva Summons, you must have the Shiva materia_.

_In FFVII: Crisis Core, they messed with this and moved summons to an entirely different system. I love the game, but really don't like the change to the summon system. I like to be able to call them when I want to call them. Not when the game randomly decides to._


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**

_I don't own Final Fantasy, nor am I JKR. Therefore, I make no money._

**Note**

_This has been completely written. I always enjoy constructive criticism and will think about any changes that are needed to better the story. Just be aware, any suggestions for future chapters may be ignored._

**Still Gaping**

_I logged in at around noon (Eastern/UTC-5) and realized I had over 830 hits combined across AO3 and FFN, by five o'clock it was up to 918 hits. This came with a total of 11 reviews, 2 C2s, 33 faves for the story, 7 that have added me to favorites and/or alerts as an author, and 48 story alerts. Wow!_

_Thank you – all of you – for your support._

* * *

**Three**

_Fire races around him, through him. His skin blackens and cracks, the outer layer slowly turning to ash. He hears a shrill shriek, feels an even more intense pain in his scar. His mind clears and memories come..._

_He is five years old. He floats in a tank of Mako and watches as Hojo cackles over his results. Later, he sits on a gurney and tries to remain impassive as they break and re-break his arm to test how long it takes to heal. Anesthetic would prejudice the results, so he receives none._

_He is twelve years old. He tries not to cry as he watches the dead – the people he had led into his first battle against the forces of Wutai – be carried off. The people of Midgar call him a hero. Shin-Ra gives him medals that pile up in one of his dresser drawers. He showers four times a day. He feels like he has bathed in blood. _

_He is sixteen years old. A gorgeous red-headed male is being introduced to him as Genesis Rhapsodos. His friend, a dark haired behemoth, is Angeal Hewley. He is to teach them to kill. They become friends almost before the day ends. Slowly, they teach him to laugh. The Wutai War rages on._

_He is twenty years old. He floats above a cannon, Genesis tries to immolate him with his fiery limit break. He decides to teach the arrogant whelp a lesson. Angeal interferes and Genesis is injured. His friends disappear and he is alone. He refuses to hunt down Genesis and sends Zack instead. He watches from a distance as Banora – Genesis' home town – is destroyed by Shin-Ra rockets. _

_He is twenty-two years old. He realizes that he is a monster – or is he the only truly good person left in a world of monsters? He burns Nibelheim to the ground. Flames caress his skin, but do no damage. This is his first strike against those who have harmed his Mother and destroyed what he could have been. He can't help but smile a little as an undervalued infantryman – Cloud – kills him with Angeal's Buster Sword. Perhaps all is not lost in this world._

_He is twenty-seven, or perhaps twenty two years old – as he's been dead for five years. He dives off of the ledge and slams his sword deep into the Cetra's abdomen. Part of him cries as he has to destroy such innocent beauty. He is mutating rapidly. He again smiles as Cloud's blade pierces his body. A Hero needs a Villain. He will return._

_He is twenty-nine, or perhaps twenty-two years old. He possesses Kadaj and battles Cloud across the ruins of Midgar, testing his successor to the title of Hero. Already in bad shape, Shin-Ra tower crumbles. Cloud's Omnislash proves dominant as his Fusion Sword shows its worth. The Hero has proven his Strength._

_He is thirty, or perhaps twenty-two years old. He floats in the Lifestream and is offered new life. He would no longer be just a memory. He ponders the chance of fresh life, a new start. He accepts._

_He is thirty-one, or perhaps twenty-two, or fifteen months old. He has been put down for the night, but has no desire to sleep. Death calls out and his father falls. Death calls out and his mother embraces the summons. Death calls out and Sephiroth denies Him. His parents' murderer is vanquished._

_He is forty-one, or perhaps twenty-two, or eleven years old. He saves a bushy-haired know-it-all from a troll. He plays a game of life-sized chess with his friends. Quirrell dies beneath his hands. _

_He is forty-two, or perhaps twenty-two, or twelve years old. He argues with a House Elf. He breaks an arm chasing fluttering gold. He stabs a Basilisk with a sword. He feels poison in his veins and fights it off. He will not be a memory, not again. The phoenix is wary, but still heals him. His body, even now infused with JENOVA's mutagenic cells, changes to absorb the strength from the poison and the tears._

_He is forty-three, or perhaps twenty-two, or thirteen years old. Sirius Black has escaped. He has no Zack to send after this runaway. He is on a train. The Dementors summon the pain of two lifetimes. He is learning the patronus charm. He needs a happy memory? He has none. He stands in a clearing and remembers the offer to leave the Dursleys. Prongs rides again. His godfather is safe. He lies in a hospital bed and stares in disbelief as the Minister insists that he was confunded._

_He is forty-four, or perhaps twenty-two, or fourteen years old. He watches as a horde of adults runs screaming from less than a dozen. He sits in the Great Hall and watches as his name comes out of the Goblet of Fire. He is abandoned by his friends, again. He masters Air and Fire to out-fly a nesting dragon. His friends return to him, a welcome change. He masters Water and rescues his hostage. He is being called insane, attention-seeking. He enters the maze to challenge Earth. He grabs the cup._

_He is forty-four, or perhaps twenty-two, or fourteen years old. He is Sephiroth, Son of Hojo and Lucretia, genetically engineered Son of Jenova. He is the Nightmare, heir to the Calamity from the Sky. He is the Villain. He is Harry Potter, Son of Lily Evans and James Potter, Godson of Sirius 'Padfoot' Black. He is the Hero, the Savior._

_He is not just a memory._

_He forces his body to re-form. The fire flows around and through him and he watches the infernal beasts writhing within. His gaze traces each thread of power that supports the constructs and he waits. Finally, his left hand lifts and he pulls the thread just so... The spell ends._

Voldemort nearly dropped his wand at the sight before him. Sephiroth eyed him as his silver hair floated in a non-existent breeze. His hand clenched, only to find Masamune in his grip. His voice has deepened, skipping the awkward cracking of puberty. "Well, that was enlightening."

Voldemort's face, already flushed with anger, turned an unhealthy shade of red. "I will kill you."

"Hmph." Sephiroth smirked. "Come and try."

Voldemort all but shrieked his rage in parseltongue. Nagini, responding to her master, slithered towards the Nightmare with incredible speed. She wasn't fast enough. Light glinted off of silvery metal as he returned Masamune to a ready position. "You'll have to try harder."

The Dark Lord snarled a the loss of his familiar. "Kill him."

A hundred curses flew towards Sephiroth, most tinged the green of the Killing Curse. There was no dodging to the side, so he took the expedient route. His leap carried him up dozens of feet. Power thrummed through his blood. "Heartless Angel."

The energy slammed into the Death Eaters, forcing gasps out of them even as they dropped to their knees. More power flowed into Masamune, only to be released in a beam of light that cut the Death Eater ranks by a third.

A second beam sliced out. The more cognizant minions dodged, and only two fell this time. A third beam killed no one. It did, however, relieve Wormtail of his new hand. He would have sent a fourth or fifth wave of energy, but found himself smacking aside curses with the flat of his blade.

His momentum reversed. At the rate he was falling, he should have slammed into the ground with terrible impact. Instead, he landed lightly on the nearest crypt. The oddity of it gave the Death Eaters pause. Still, they had their orders.

Voldemort, behind his followers, was chanting. Sephiroth wasn't familiar with the invocation itself, but he could feel the way the energies flowed. It was an enhancement spell. Voldemort's attacks would have more power once it was completed.

He debated interrupting it. _No. Let's see if it does the bastard son of a slum rat any good. _Instead, he concentrated his attacks on the Death Eaters. Wormtail fled but found his legs cut out from under him. A quick, controlled Fira cauterized the wounds to both legs and his arm, preventing him from bleeding out. The cowardly rat kept pulling himself away as best he could with a single functioning limb.

He was not so merciful to the others. Crabbe fell to the ground next to his arm, his remaining hand trying to cram his intestines back into his abdomen. Goyle was neatly bisected, left shoulder to right hip. Malfoy was also halved, this time horizontally at groin level, before the tip of his blade passed through the man's chest and into his heart.

Sephiroth admitted inwardly that he just might be holding a bit of a grudge towards both Draco and his father.

Avery blinked blood out of his eyes. He wondered where it came from even as he collapsed to the ground, a horizontal slice having exposed his cranial cavity to open air. Next to him, Macnair tried to scream as Sephiroth's sword cut easily through his rib cage. The only noise he could make was a gurgling, squeaking sound as he died.

The last Death Eater standing – Nott – backpedaled hastily as Sephiroth advanced. He was panting in his fear and the sour stench of urine filled the air. He didn't beg. Sephiroth could respect him for that, at least. Nott earned himself a quick decapitation as Voldemort finally completed his spell.

Sephiroth turned to face him, Masamune in his left hand and wand in his right. His lips curled in amusement as he modified a statement he'd once made to Cloud. It fit beautifully here. "Happy Rebirth Day, Tom. I've brought you a wonderful gift. I give you despair."

Voldemort swallowed, realizing for the first time that he was now alone with the madman that he had thought was Harry Potter. But, no, the scar was still on his forehead. It was faded, drastically so, but still there. "Who are you really?"

Sephiroth smiled almost gently. "Once upon a time, I was a Hero. Then, I was the Villain. It appears that I'm the Hero once again." His head cocked to one side. "Perhaps I should let you live. After all, you can't have a proper Hero without a Villain."

He considered this for a few more moments and then shook his head. "No. If you're anywhere near a decent Villain, you'll find a way to resurrect yourself again. I've managed it at least six times, myself."

The Dark Lord's eyes widened. "S-six times?"

"Mm." The Son of JENOVA smiled. "Your move."

Voldemort narrowed his red eyes at him. He would not be shown up by this upstart child. His wand slid into the eternity gesture of the Killing Curse as he summoned up every ounce of hatred and power that he felt towards the boy. "Avada Kedavra!"

The green light ricocheted off of Masamune. A split second later, the sword was buried in the Dark Lord's skull. The blackened soul fled, shrieking in anger and pain. Sephiroth watched it go with a smile. "I suppose I'll see you later, then."

He quickly immolated the body to keep any contaminants – such as JENOVA – contained. A noise off to one side reminded him of Peter. He turned and let go of Masamune, the sword vanishing before it hit the ground. He strode to Wormtail's side and took hold of his mangled body. "Relax. I'm sure that they'll give you some painkillers before they send you to Azkaban."

The cup flew to his hand. A navel hook and a swirling ride later, he was standing in front of the cheering spectators and watching the crowd realize that something was very wrong. He turned to face Dumbledore and shoved Peter into his arms. Dumbledore looked startled on meeting his eyes, but he cut him off before he could speak. "Maybe you'll have more luck clearing Sirius' name with this."

"Harry!" Ron and Hermione ran towards him, his fellow Champions not far behind. He smiled as the bushy-haired missle slammed into his chest, arms encircling him. "Oh! We were so worried!"

He gently extricated himself and nodded to Ron. "I was, too."

Moody materialized at his shoulder. "Come on, son. Let's get you to the hospital wing."

Sephiroth glanced at him. "No, thank you. I'm perfectly fine."

"Lad, you need to lie down..."

He turned to face the retired Auror and frowned. Awareness zinged down his spine, the danger sense he'd honed in dozens of battles. Something wasn't right... "I think Madam Pomfrey should be the judge of that. As she's coming this way, I am more than happy to wait."

Moody grabbed his right arm and started to pull him towards the castle, looking around to make sure that people's attention was on the newly triple-amputated Wormtail. "Let's go, lad."

The prickly feeling on his spine settled into his stomach, radiating a vibrant feeling of wrongness. He didn't want to fight the man, but he was not going with him. He met Hermione's eyes. She was biting her lip, not liking what she was seeing. Ron was oblivious, but clearly didn't agree with Moody. He wouldn't want to be dragged away from all this fanfare, after all.

Sephiroth yanked his arm back, hard. "Unhand me!"

The sudden force caught Moody off guard. He almost stumbled to the ground and was forced to let go in order to retain his balance. He growled. "Mister Potter! You need to go to the hospital wing!"

Madam Pomfrey, coming up behind Moody, cut in. "Professor Moody, I am the resident nurse here. Thank you for your assistance. However, the day I need the help of the DMLE to get a fourteen year old in for treatment is the day I retire. Now, if you don't mind."

She shoved the one-eyed man out of the way and flicked her wand over Sephiroth a few times. She frowned at some of the readings, and redid them. He was more than slightly amused to note her expressions as she couldn't find anything physically wrong in spite of his changed appearance. His Mako enhancements had already healed the wound on his chest. There wasn't even a scar.

"Hmph. Well, that's new." She gave him a final once-over visually. "I can't say that I approve of your fashion choices, but it seems that all you need is a good meal and a little sleep. Keep it up, Mister Potter."

He couldn't fight the smile that rose. "Yes, ma'am."

"Wonderful." Moody brought their attention back to himself. "Now, Mister Potter, let's go inside and you can give your statement for capturing Wormtail."

Harry blinked at him, then gaped at Hermione when her Stupefy slammed into the old Auror. His voice was a startled squeak. "Mione?"

She tucked her wand away, primly. "One: Alastor Moody is retired. There is no way that he'd try to interview you for the DMLE. He knows better. Two: He called Pettigrew 'Wormtail.' How did he know that name?" She sniffed the air. "Lastly, I've been trying to place that scent all year – he reeks of Polyjuice."

Sephiroth smiled, tension easing out of his muscles at her explanation. She hadn't gone insane, just put together the puzzle pieces he was still trying to see. "Only you, Hermione."

Ron was fairly easily put off in regards to his new visage. Harry just shrugged and commented that Madam Pomfrey seemed to think nothing was physically wrong. Hermione, on the other hand, looked like she was about to start a new research project. She questioned him extensively about everything he'd come in contact with since the start of the year. He finally escaped to bed, claiming fatigue.

Over the next twenty-four hours, Hogwarts was more chaotic than usual. Alastor Moody was revealed to be Barty Crouch, Junior. The real Mad-Eye Moody was found locked in one of Crouch's trunks, half alive and spitting mad. He was quickly confined to the hospital wing. No one was surprised when Madam Pomfrey declared that he'd be there for at least a week.

Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic and all around idiot, managed to have Crouch kissed. It was supposedly an accident. Harry wasn't so sure of that, but he let it pass without comment. Pettigrew, on the other hand, disappeared into the bowels of the Ministry. Harry decided that he'd see what came of that and act only if he had to.

Dumbledore and Fudge did manage to corner him for a few hours. Harry took great pleasure in verbally tearing a strip out of the Minister's hide when he insisted that it was 'impossible' for Voldemort to return. It didn't do much by way of convincing him, but it made Harry feel better. Fudge all but threw his Tri-Wizard winnings at him as he left.

He tried to ignore the suspicious looks from Dumbledore and the voice in the back of his mind that pegged Fudge as another President Shin-Ra.

Before leaving Hogwarts for his supposed home, he grabbed the Weasley twins and hustled them into an abandoned classroom. A quiet conversation and an oath of secrecy later, he was a thousand galleons poorer. They were more than willing to divert some of their time to inventing weapons of war in exchange for funding to start their joke shop. They also advised him that they would be on call for 'all his pranking needs.'

The ride back was quiet. Thinking on it, Sephir... _Harry. I'm Harry..._ was surprised that he wasn't questioned further in regards to the deaths of so many 'upstanding purebloods that made charitable donations.' There hadn't even been a bit of commentary on arresting him. Perhaps they were afraid of what he would say if they got him under Veritaserum? Fudge had certainly fled quickly enough...

He puzzled over this for a few moments before deciding that Fudge either didn't want to believe that a child could kill so many, or the coward didn't want to stay in the room with anyone that could. He leaned back in his seat and absently listened to his friends' conversations. He would deal with it as it came. For now, he just had to get through the summer.

* * *

_This will be continued in Sephiroth Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, a much longer story as Seph's emergence causes far more changes to the time stream. It took me three days to find it. I'm amazed I did, since I hadn't seen it since we moved. At any rate, the next story is currently in development. The first chapter will be posted tomorrow, but updates will be slower. I'm having to all but re-read the book to figure out what will change and how._

_**The Many Deaths and Resurrections of Sephiroth**_

_The Reactor at Nibelheim_

_The Northern Crater – Bizarro Sephiroth_

_The Northern Crater – Safer Sephiroth_

_The Northern Crater - Sephiroth_

_Edge City – Possesses Kadaj_

_Avada Kedavra – 15 mos old _

_Yes, I'm calling the AK a momentary death. The whole 'Lily gave her life' thing never made sense to me. There had to have been other mothers that did the same. Instead, I'm going to say he managed to throw the energies off and back into Voldie. 'Cause Seph is just that damned good!_

_There's at **least** two more deaths in there if you want to include the Kingdom Hearts and Final Fantasy Dissidia universes. Not to mention Hojo's idea of experimentation... Wanna lay odds that he stopped Seph's heart at least once when he was experimenting on him?_

_**To cut off a debate that I might wind up embroiled in, anyway: **_

_The time line I found on stated that Sephiroth was born approximately twenty years before Crisis Core. The same time line states that he became a decorated Wutai War Hero eight years before Crisis Core. Doing the math, he was around twelve at the time. The Final Fantasy Wiki states that he was twenty-five at the beginning of Crisis Core. Even if that is the case, he would have been at war when he was seventeen. _

_Either way, he was still far too young. Yet, I went with the younger age. Why? Because it highlights the monstrous amorality of Shin-Ra._


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**

_Don't own. Never have and unfortunately never will. (sob, whine)_

* * *

**Final SPGOF Author's Note and Dedication**

This is not a new chapter, I'm sorry to say. But, for those who are following SPGOF and might not know yet: the first chapter of Sephiroth Potter and the Order of the Phoenix is up.

Chapter updates will be weekly, hopefully. I look forward to entertaining you and reading your comments.

In the meantime, I would like to comment/point out that I make no claims to the plot twist where Harry is Sephiroth. If you check the archive, there is a challenge listed somewhere in here called "**Harry Potter is Sephiroth or descendant request**" by Acolyte of the Blood Moon. I grant credit for the initial inspiration to that challenge. Of the four - FOUR! - stories I started over the last two years in an attempt to fill it, I think this is my best offering. Even if I did have Harry merge with his memories of Sephiroth at an earlier point in the timeline than was suggested.

If I ever finish the other three, I might post them. Still, I've set them aside to work on this story and a couple of others. Once this series is complete, I may - MAY - be bringing back Bind the Serpent. I make no promises, however. My muse is thinking about pondering the idea, if you get my meaning. At the very least, I will try to update Possible Meeting at that point.

I want to, again, thank all of those who have encouraged me. This story is dedicated to all of you.

This dedication includes readers and reviewers on FFN and AO3. This also includes the people in my household: my husband and my mother. Despite living with us and having to deal with the casual annoyances that such a situation implies, she has always encouraged me to write. Also, she is (and has been) an excellent resource for grammar and other facets of the English language. Probably because she has a degree in the topic and taught it. (Though, I still insist that we speak American in this country, not any form of English that is remotely recognized by the region bearing that name.)

* * *

**For those who haven't gotten there, yet - a look at the first chapter of Sephiroth Potter and the Order of the Phoenix:**

_Harry James Potter was less than pleased. He had been entered into the Tri-Wizard tournament. He had out flown a dragon, rescued the fair maiden from the lake (Okay, it was Ron. Still...), and emerged victorious from the maze. He had regained the memories of his past life and defeated Voldemort for what he was sure was only the latest of many times._

_But, the Headmaster insisted that he return to his Aunt's abode. There was no commentary on how or why he had the authority to insist that he do so. He simply commanded and all those around him obeyed. If Harry didn't know better, he'd say the man had all of his friends under the Imperius Curse._

_Well, at least he was fairly certain the old coot didn't..._


End file.
